


A Dark and Bloody Path

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Boy King!Sam, Brother fucking, Dark!Winchesters, Demon!Dean, Incest, M/M, Sam and Dean take over Hell, Sam gets a dog, Sibling Incest, Soulless!Sam, Violence, murder!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 21:52:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11261721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Sam and Dean have given into their dark sides. But what do Dark Winchesters do?Take over Hell, apparentlyComplete with drinking blood, murder, and fucking each other.





	A Dark and Bloody Path

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhisperingMagpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperingMagpie/gifts).



> So this was a commission for the lovely @samslashdeantogether, who loved one of my Bonded Through Sin prompts dealing with Dark!Wincest and they wanted me to run with it (find it here: http://lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell.tumblr.com/post/161791388800/100-kinks-challenge)

Dean paced around the bunker slowly, eyes black as coal. The Blade sat comfortably in his hand as he walked around, looking for his prey. 

He found it in the library, hunched over his laptop, eyes scanning lines of tiny text. Smirking, he stealthily walked up behind his intended victim, raising the Blade high into the air. He could almost hear the steady, slow beat of the other man’s heart. Clearly the man had no clue what was coming.

“Dean?” Sam spoke, and Dean froze in his death pose behind his brother.  _ Dammit.  _ Something went wrong. 

“I can see you in my laptop screen,” Sam sighed, reaching under the table and turning. He was holding a bright blue squirt bottle, and Dean hissed at seeing the black cross on it. “Dude. I’m not prey. I’m not the one you want to kill. Well. Maybe sometimes. But I’m your brother. We’re in this craziness together.” He sprayed Dean’s face and the demon snarled as the small droplets of water hit his face. 

“Say something if you need to go out and kill something. Don’t sneak up on me and pull a Cain and Abel,” Sam admonished. “I’ll find us something nice and clean to go killing. Okay?” 

Dean nodded, spitting onto the floor. “You’re such a bitch,” he grumbled. 

“Right back at you, jerk,” Sam said, smirking. 

 

Sam did find them something. A bunch of rogue demons. Dean figured that he could help Crowley out with this. 

They drove all day, all night. Neither of them needed to sleep- those with souls slept. The damned did not. 

They reached the small town in Vermont within a day and a half and booked a motel, even though they weren’t going to be sleeping in it. They knew that they had to keep up appearances to the majority of the general public. Monsters aside. 

“How’s the feel good juice, Sammy?” Dean asked as he clicked through the pay per view on the motel’s tiny black and white television. 

Sam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I could. . . I could probably use some more,” he admitted. “It’s been a while.” 

“It sure has,” Dean said. He grabbed the First Blade and patted the bed beside on him. He turned the TV off as Sam sat down beside him, almost salivating. 

“Ready?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded, eyes trained on the Blade. 

Dean took the jawbone and slit his arm from wrist to elbow. He held it out to Sam and Sam took it eagerly, lapping at the dark red liquid that oozed out of the wound. 

“That’s it Sammy,” Dean whispered, his free hand coming up and stroking through Sam’s hair. “Good boy.” 

Sam gave a breathless laugh as he looked up at Dean, eyes almost as black as Dean’s demon eyes. The older Winchester could see the power in those eyes, as well as something else. 

In a few swift movements, Sam straddled Dean’s lap and took his arm to mouth again, licking and sucking eagerly. He rutted down onto Dean and Dean groaned, feeling Sam’s length through the jeans that they both wore and felt his own responding in kind to everything. Sam’s grinding, the way Sam was slurping on his wrist, the fact that when his baby brother raised his head again to allow the wound to heal, his entire mouth was covered in his own brother’s blood and there was certain maniacal delight in his ever changing eyes. 

Dean couldn’t help himself. He fisted his fingers in Sam’s hair and brought him in for a filthy kiss, licking away his own blood. The tangy taste of copper and sulphur hit his tongue and he groaned as Sam responded, fisting his hands into Dean’s T-shirt. 

They fell onto the bed, Dean on his back and Sam withdrew from the kiss. Dean used to like seeing the soul in Sam’s eyes, how he seemed to always take the world in and feel for it, feel how it hurts as much as he felt himself get hurt. There was none of that now, not since Sam took it out and locked it in a tiny box somewhere deep in the bunker, but Dean didn’t care now. Soulless or not, Sam was the best. 

Sam jumped off the bed and tore Dean’s T-Shirt off of him with a growl. 

“Careful, that’s only T-Shirt I brought,” Dean said. 

“You can wear one of mine,” Sam snarled, fumbling with Dean’s belt. “Right now, I need to  _ fuck  _ you.” 

Dean’s brain short circuited and he groaned. “Fucking hell, Sammy, love how you get all bossy with my blood coursing through you.” 

The lights flickered as the two men wrestled to get off the rest of their clothes, attacking each other with furious kisses and harsh hands as belts went flying and there was the sounds of tearing fabric everywhere. Dean’s eyes were black, and Sam’s didn’t look quite human either. In the dark, Dean swore that they turned sickly yellow, and it made him quiver as Sam triumphed and pinned him to the bed. 

“I get all tingly when you get dominant like this,” Dean teased as Sam found the bottle of lube already in the nightstand. 

Sam gave a huff of a laugh and smeared some lube onto his fingers. “I know you do, you like the pain,” he said as he flipped Dean over single handedly and smacked his ass. “Up on all fours.” 

“Bossy,” Dean said, gladly raising his rear up and spreading his legs to give Sam a look at his hole. 

“You know it,” Sam grinned before plunging three fingers into Dean without warning. 

Dean gave a loud whine and keen, his hips stuttering slightly. “FUCK!!” 

“I’m sorry,” Sam laughed, not sounding sorry at all. 

“Payback’s a bitch, that fucking hurt,” Dean grumbled. 

“You like the pain, big brother,” Sam murmured, stretching Dean open. “Besides you were the last one to get fucked.”

“I think next time we fuck, it’ll be  _ your  _ turn,” Dean said, moaning as Sam opened him up roughly. 

Sam chuckled roughly. “We’ll see, big brother.” 

It didn’t take long before Sam was bored with stretching Dean open, and he picked up his cock before sliding into Dean in one swift thrust. 

Dean howled in a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Fuck, Sammy, so good.” 

“It’s  _ Sam, _ ” the younger Winchester growled before he pulled out until just the tip was inside of Dean and then slammed into him. 

There was hardly any talking after that, just animalistic grunts and the sound of skin slapping against skin almost hard enough to make Dean’s ass bruise as if he had been spanked, rather than just fucked at inhuman speeds. 

It was over for both of them when Sam reached down and wrapped his hand around Dean’s cock, coloring his neck and shoulders with colorful marks that were sure to last for days, despite their quick healing abilities. It only took a few jerks of his hand before Dean was cumming hard, covering Sam’s hand and the sheets beneath them with his release. The clenching of his hole was enough for Sam to spill into his brother with a growl fit for a hell hound. 

They collapsed on the bed, both of them being careful about the wet spot. Dean’s shoulders were sluggishly bleeding, and the scent of sulphur punctured the air along with the smell of sex. 

“Will you be ready for round two soon?” Sam asked. He was insatiable after his fill of blood. 

Dean chuckled. “You know it, baby brother.” 

“Good,” Sam sighed happily. “Cause it’s your turn to fuck me.” 

Dean groaned. It was going to be a long night. 

 

The dissenting demons honestly thought that they were a match for the Winchester brothers. How wrong they were. 

They stood there, surrounded by demons of all levels, mostly black eyed but there was a couple of crossroads demons in the mix. 

Sam gave a bored look towards Dean. The older Winchester could feel the power flowing through his brother, feel it coursing in his veins, burning behind soulless eyes. “Want me to thin the herd?” he asked in a long suffering voice. 

“Be my guest, Sammy,” Dean gestured. 

Sam turned and faced the horde in front of him, demons jeering, daring the tall man to make a move. 

Sam simply took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. As his body relaxed, his shoulders rolling back, demons fell one by one, killed as gold light shot out from their eyes and mouths in screams. Those who hadn’t been killed yet were looking around in fear and panic, as if they were expecting an angel to appear. 

“No angel, ladies and gentlemen,” Dean said, stepping up and clapping Sam on the back. His eyes turned black and he held up the Blade as Sam’s eyes opened, almost revelling in sickly yellow. “Just a couple of demons cleaning up Hell.” 

They began trying to escape, but Sam reacted first. Reaching out, he telepathically threw a few demons against the wall, knocking them out cold, and closed the ancient barn door on the rest. A waterfall of holy water fell onto them, and they screamed in agony. 

Dean winced in sympathy but smirked at Sam. “May I?” he asked. 

“Go ahead, go play. Go  _ kill, _ ” Sam purred, licking the shell of Dean’s ear. “C’mon Dean. Make your King proud.” 

Dean gave the grin of death as he casually sauntered over to the burned, crying, pathetic demons, all of whom were crying out for mercy. 

“No mercy for any of you filthy maggots,” he said as he began slashing their throats one by one. 

 

They let one go, to run back to Hell and tell Crowley what he had seen. The Mark hummed happily on Dean’s arm, and victory sang in their veins in harmony with it. 

“All in a day’s work,” Sam sighed as they walked back over to the Impala. 

“Amen to that,” Dean said. “I think I’m ready for a cold one and a tight little hole.” 

Sam chuckled low in his throat. “I wanna top tonight, though,” he said. 

“You topped last night!” 

“So did you!” 

“You topped first!” 

Sam growled. “ _ I’m  _ the King.” 

Dean actually shivered at Sam’s tone. “And I’m your Knight. And without me, you’re nothing.” 

“I am not,” Sam insisted. 

Dean snorted. “We’ll see.” 

It was an old song and dance for the two of them at this point. The post murder adrenaline was always a searing high for them, filled with banter that seemed cruel and even sadistic. It was a kind of foreplay for them, before they got back to the hotel they were staying at and the  _ real  _ foreplay began. 

 

No sooner had the door locked behind Sam that he was bodily pinned to it by Dean, the shorter Winchester snarling and digging his teeth into the flannel covered shoulder with a raw ferocity. Sam groaned as he thrust back into his older brother’s hips, hissing as his own collided with the door painfully. 

“I’m sorry, little brother, did I hurt you?” Dean asked sarcastically. 

“Do it again,” Sam dared. 

“With pleasure.” Dean’s eyes flickered from green to black as he thrust his hips against Sam’s again. “You’re my little bitch, Sammy.” 

“It’s  _ Sam. _ ” 

“You’re bottom bitch tonight, I get to call you whatever I want,” Dean growled. “If that means I call you Sammy, that means I’m gonna fuckin’ call you Sammy.” 

“I didn’t agree to be bottom bitch tonight,” Sam snarled, pushing solidly against Dean’s shoulders. 

Dean pressed his body against Sam’s harshly. “You are now. And I’m going to make you sing so pretty, have Heaven hear how fuckin’ far you’ve fallen. You always turn into a needy little slut when you’re bottoming for me.” 

Sam scowled venomously as he tore Dean’s shirt off of him. 

“Can you stop fucking tearin’ my clothes off? I can’t be drivin’ down the interstate with my cock flopping about,” Dean admonished harshly. 

Sam smirked, quicksilver and cream. “It won’t be flopping around if I’m sucking it down my throat,” he said cheekily.

Dean reached around and squeezed Sam’s tight ass, watching him keen. “And this is what I’m talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy. How slutty you get for me when you know you’re gettin’ my dick in your tight little hole,” he hissed. Unbuttoning Sam’s flannel, he slid it off Sam’s shoulders and pulled off his shirt, pressing bare chest against bare chest. “See? You can take clothes off without turnin’ into a wild animal.” 

“You like the animal,” Sam growled. “And the animal is  _ hungry. _ ” 

“You mean slutty,” Dean smirked. 

“I mean hungry. Fuck me, Dean.” 

“You’re such a little slut.” 

“I’m not. And I’m not ‘little’. I am bigger than you.” 

“Bigger isn’t always better, Sammy. I’m older.” 

There wasn’t much talking after that, since Sam decided that trying to tear Dean’s lips off of his face was a much more productive use of his time. 

 

This was how they lived. They retreated to the bunker and continued living their lives. They ate, they slept together in the same bed with Dean curled in Sam’s arms, they fucked, they killed. Once a week, Dean would let Sam feed from him and they would fuck even harder. 

They still hunted the supernatural, now with little to no fear of death. Between Dean being a Knight of Hell and Sam’s demonic powers, death wasn’t a thing on their minds. 

 

Day by day, Sam grew stronger with his powers. Knight of Hell blood was the strongest he’s ever had, and even would supplement it on occasion with a dissenting crossroads demon so that Dean could heal, and so that he could have a little variety. His eyes remained yellow more so than not, and Dean loved it. 

Sam was well on his way to turning into a demon in his own right, a thought that thrilled them both. 

 

“Do you think Azazel and Alastair would be proud of us?”

The question came from Sam’s lips before he could stop it, both brothers breathing heavily from the round of rough, primal sex that they just had. Both their shoulders were bleeding sluggishly, the sickening scent of sulphur wafting through the air. 

Dean gave the question some serious consideration, black eyes slowly slipping back to green as he did so. “I think so,” he said finally, rubbing his thumb in circles all over Sam’s tanned body. “If not for what we become, then what we do. We rid Hell of the idiots, we continue to use what they taught us, or gave us in your case. Sure, we sometimes use those things for more. . . creative ideas, but you know, it’s still being applied. 

“Applicable knowledge?” Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose so. I’m sure you’d love to tie me up to a rack and torture me until I begged for your cock.” 

Dean groaned, reaching down and grabbing Sam’s cock. “You’d like it too, don’t deny it,” he growled. 

“Oh I’m not,” Sam grinned. “I’d like to think they’d be proud of us. We’ve given into the dark within us. I just wish they could’ve lived to see us live up to that potential.” 

“Oh, same,” Dean agreed before chuckling. “You realize. . . we killed the other’s master, so to speak.” 

“You mean, you killed Azazel and I killed Alastair?” Sam laughed softly. 

“Yeah.” 

They chuckled before Sam flopped onto his back and stretched, back bowing into a taut arch above the bed, hands above his head and legs spread. “Did you ever fuck Alastair?” 

“More like he fucked me,” Dean chuckled. “The last ten years for sure. Torture always made me riled up, don’t know why.” 

“You like hearing the screams,” Sam laughed. “You like your bed partners vocal and slutty about it.” 

“And none have been a more vocal slut about my dick than you, little brother,” Dean smirked. 

“Truth,” Sam laughed. 

“I think Alastair would’ve liked to see you torture in action,” Dean admitted. 

“I’d like to think I would’ve made a good torturer,” Sam agreed. 

“Why do you think? Your empathy level was always over nine thousand,” Dean teased. “Unless we removed your soul.” 

Sam laughed. “Kindness is a crueler Master than anger. You’re too angry. You make a good torturer, don’t get me wrong, and you’ve got kindness, but you’re a bit of a bully.” 

“Way to sugar coat it,” Dean feigned hurt, slapping Sam’s ass hard when the younger man flopped back onto his stomach.

Sam yelped before reaching over and slapping Dean’s cock. “No filter, remember? Anyways, you’ve always been kind of angry and take it out. Me? I tend to hold it in and still be kind. Kind people always make cruel torturers. . . because it shows we’ve snapped.” 

“Like a rubber band,” Dean grinned. “So what was the catalyst for making you snap?” 

Sam looked up at his older brother with feverish lust. “You, Dean. Always been you.” 

Dean smiled. “That’s my baby brother. Think your ass can take one more round?” 

“Yes,” Sam hissed, rolling over onto his brother. 

“You sure?” Dean teased, “You have taken my cock about seven times tonight.” 

“So let’s do number eight,” Sam said.

“You’re on.”

 

They strode into Crowley’s throne room with a singular mission in mind. 

Really, what’s a Knight and Lucifer’s Vessel doing serving a  _ lowly  _ crossroads demon?

It was time for a regime change. 

“Hello, boys,” Crowley drawled. “What can I do for you today?” 

Dean smirked. “Well, you see, Crowley,” he said, walking forward and staring Crowley dead in the eyes, “Sammy and I’ve been thinkin’.” 

“Oh? About what? Dangerous for you pretty boys to be thinking,” Crowley said.

“We want a regime change,” Sam announced. 

Well, he didn’t have a filter, and Dean smirked. 

“You want a what?” Crowley asked in disbelief. 

“A regime change. You see, you worked your way up from the lowest of the low,” Dean said, walking closer, Sam his taller shadow. “You have about as much of a claim to this throne as you do the throne in England.”

Crowley blinked. 

“Whereas,” Sam said, stepping up closer and resting a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “I’ve had a claim to the throne of Hell since I was a six month old baby, gifted to me by Azazel.” 

“Azazel was a fool. He’s dead,” Crowley shrugged. 

“By a Winchester’s hand,” Dean reminded him. “Mine, to be exact.” He held up the Colt. 

Sam nodded. “But you see,” he said, getting closer to the throne, “We also do our research. We know demonic classifications, and Azazel was one of the four Princes of Hell. As the only member living of the Special Children. . .” His eyes closed, and when they opened, ever changing had been set to sulphuric yellow, “I can claim the throne. Not to mention Dean’s a Knight of Hell. What’s a soul collector doing on the throne when there’s much stronger, better demons to be at the helm?”

Crowley sneered. “You boys don’t know how to rule,” he snarled, his eyes falling to red. 

The Winchesters barely heard the throne doors open to let demons in, demons loyal to Crowley. 

“Maybe not, but we  _ will _ rule, and we will rule with an iron fist.” Dean reached up and grabbed Crowley’s black hair. Jerking his head back, he snarled. “You’re talking to the protege of Alastair, the greatest torturer Hell ever had, and the True Vessel of Lucifer. I’d say we’ve got a better chance at doing this than  _ you. _ ” 

“I was King of the Crossroads!” Crowley snipped. 

The demons crowded the Winchesters. 

“Sam!” Dean barked. 

“On it,” Sam said calmly. He turned around and faced the demons. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders back, and closed his eyes. 

Crowley jumped as Dean forced him to watch Sam kill demon after demon without anything but his mind. 

“This is how he killed Alastair,” Dean snarled softly, “I watched him telepathically pin the second demon ever created to the wall like Picasso with a Razor was a butterfly and kill him with nothing but his mind and his powers. Look at that.  _ That  _ is a king. That is a king who won’t let dissenters run amok in his kingdom and have someone else sweep them under the rug. Justice should be  _ swiftly  _ served.” 

“JULIETTE!” Crowley called for his loyal hellhound.

“Oh you just made a mistake,” Dean sneered. “Sammy  _ loves  _ dogs, hellish or not. He’s gonna have Juliette turn you into Alpo.” 

The Hellhound came running in. She was a magnificent hellhound, hellish flames curling around her proudly as Queen Bitch. She looked at Crowley for directions. 

Sam reacted. “Juliette! Come here, girl!” he called for her. 

Juliette bounded towards Sam and sat in front of him. 

“Good girl! Such a good girl!” Sam cooed, kneeling in front of the hound and patting his chest. “Come give Sam a hug!”

Crowley’s eyes bulged out of his head before he attempted to throw Dean off of him. 

“Oh no you  _ don’t, _ ” Dean barked. “Sam!” 

“Be there in a moment!” Sam called, in the middle of giving Juliette belly rubs. “Who’s a good hellhound? You are!” 

“Juliette! Papa’s talking to you,” Crowley cooed. 

Juliette didn’t pay attention to the demon who raised her. She was focused on Sam, playfully biting his hands and cuddling him. The hound was as big as he was, and she played like a puppy.    
“Sammy? I know you got the dog, but I want you to help me,” Dean requested. 

Crowley struggled, but Dean held a firm grip on him. As a last resort, he began smoking out. 

Sam sprang into action. As he was still somewhat human, he barked at Dean to cover his ears and covered Juliette’s as he recited the exorcism backwards to shove Crowley back into his meatsuit. As the reverse exorcism finished, he pulled a gun out of his back pocket and shot Crowley in the shoulder with it. 

“Devil’s trap bullet,” he explained as Crowley tried to perform his failed Houdini act again. “Now you can’t smoke out. Pity, the taste of the bullet is going to spoil the taste.” 

“The taste of what?” Crowley sounded scared. 

“You,” Dean shrugged. “Besides mine, Sam enjoys a nice red eye every now and then. Apparently there’s a ‘refined’ taste to it.” 

Crowley turned pale and struggled in Dean’s arms as Sam approached them, pulling free Ruby’s knife. 

The throne room was slowly being filled again, this time by demons who were much quieter about their hatred of Crowley, eyes eager. They longed for a stronger leader, one who wouldn’t backslide. Sam Winchester, with Dean as his Knight and Head Torturer, would do very nicely. They watched with hungry eyes, watching the incestous duo. 

Sam ascended the throne and sat down in the chair Crowley had once occupied. Dean shoved Crowley unceremoniously onto Sam’s lap. 

“Aww, Dean, I thought we had something,” Crowley said with a sense of bravado.

Dean chuckled. “I prefer my lovers to not have sold their soul because they wanted a double digit dick,” he snarked. 

“Stop flirting with my brother,” Sam snapped at Crowley. He grabbed the former King of Hell by the tie and jerked him forward, inhaling the demon’s scent. He brought up Ruby’s knife and slashed the carotid artery without a care in the world before dropping his mouth to it and beginning to drink. 

Crowley screamed and thrashed against Sam, begging for his life as he bled into Sam’s mouth. He begged for someone to come save you.

Sam lifted his mouth up from Crowley’s neck. “Dean, kill anyone who dares intervene,” he commanded. 

“Yes, Majesty,” Dean said, standing in front of his younger brother and daring anyone to come closer, to try stop the killing of Crowley. 

No one moved a muscle. 

 

It took the better part of three hours for Sam to drain Crowley of enough blood that there was no way for the demon to bounce back. In that time, Dean only had to kill three demons, and Juliette laid at her new master’s feet, ignoring Crowley’s pleas for her to protect him, to attack Sam or Dean. When he reached out to pet her, she bit his hand off and used it as a chew toy to amuse herself while Sam was busy. 

When Sam was finished, he hauled the soon to be corpse up to his feet. “I hereby relieve you of your duties,” he said, mouth covered in blood. Licking his lips, he drove Ruby’s knife directly into Crowley’s chest. 

Gold light shot out from his eyes, his skeleton lighting up red like lights on a Christmas tree before growing dark. Growling, Sam shoved Crowley off of his knife before standing and surveying the demons in front of him. 

One by one, they all began clapping. Some even began cheering, and Sam wiped Crowley’s blood off with the back of his hand, eyes almost glowing. 

Dean ascended the stairs to stand by Sam’s chair, averting his eyes respectfully, but the older Winchester had a proud smirk on his face. “That’s my little brother,” he whispered. 

Sam gave an incline of his head, indicating he heard, before raising a hand up, silencing the crowd. 

“Today, a new era begins in Hell,” he announced. “No longer will Hell be organized like a business, by a second rate bean counter who had delusions of grandeur. A  _ true  _ King has ascended the throne. One who will deal with those who disobey swiftly and harshly. A King who won’t make the stupid mistake of relying just on barely sharpened wits.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder, “but a ruler who understands Hell and it’s hierarchy, handpicked by Lucifer himself. With my brother by my side. . . Hell will be the vast, torturous place it was meant to be.” 

The demons cheered, and Sam smirked. 

“Those who disobey will become a meal for me,” Sam warned, “or a plaything for the Knight of Hell. If found guilty of treason. . . it will be made public. Spread this far and wide, and go cause chaos.” 

“Sire!” A lower level demon spoke up, panic in his voice, “there’s a seraph at the doors as we speak.” 

Sam smirked and sat down on the throne, legs spread. Dean remained standing in parade rest. “Let him come. I’ll deal with the angel myself. But go lead him on a wild goose chase before hand. I like my enemies to be full of fear.” 

The demons scattered to do as they were told. One lingered behind. “The bodies?” 

“Leave them for now,” Sam instructed, “I’ll give orders for disposal later.” 

The demon nodded and ran off. 

Dean waited until all the demons who were still alive had left before turning and kneeling in front of Sam. “My liege.” 

“My knight,” Sam said, voice void of affection. He reached down and ran his fingers through Dean’s silky, sandy locks. “Are you ready to serve me?” 

Dean looked up and smirked. “In every way possible, Sam.” 

“Good,” Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. 

“Permission to fuck my King later in our new bed?” Dean asked. 

Sam smirked. “Only if you blow me, right here and now,” he commanded. 

Dean’s fingers reached up to deftly undo Sam’s belt. “I’d thought you’d never ask.” 

 

The Boy King and his Knight of Hell reigned for many eons. Soon, Crowley turned into a word that meant dissenter, or a demon who committed treason. 

They freed Lucifer, allowing him to roam free and protect Hell in the best way he could, which was killing any angels who dared to venture down into the depths of the Pit in attempts to save the Winchesters. He didn’t mind letting his True Vessel rule; indeed, Sam was a better ruler than he could’ve been. Sam appointed him as a general in the demonic army, and Lucifer was content. 

Juliette was happy and content with Sam as her new master, and fiercely loyal to him almost as much as Dean is. Should an idiot offend their King, both Knight and Hellhound were growling and standing in front of him. Sam indulged both of them, knowing how they felt. 

The Mark would throb, and Dean would have to kill, or at the least shed blood. When he wasn’t tangled up in blood red sheets with Sam or standing by Sam while he conducted his audiences, screams from Alastair’s old torture room could be heard. Whispers had it that Dean had surpassed his teacher in the methods of torture. Some dissenters, upon hearing their sentence of being tortured by Dean, would beg for death by Sam drinking their blood, utterly terrified of the Mark made Knight and what he was capable of. 

The Winchester brothers showed no mercy. Dark shadows of the men they once were, they ruled with the fist and might of gods, protected by the archangel who started it all. 

This wasn’t Chuck Shurley’s plan, not at all. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. 

But the Winchesters had always said ‘screw destiny’ and gave up the idea that free will was an illusion, and blazed their own dark, bloody trail that lead to this. 

And as Sam thrust up into his brother in the middle of their throne room, drinking from the hollow of his throat and drawing blood from elongated nails, God sighed and stealthily showed His way out. 

He had failed, and now, a new chapter of the Winchester Gospels would have to be written. Maybe not published, but written. 

“I wonder if it’s too early to kickstart the Book of Revelations,” He muttered as He ascended into Heaven. 

Dean cried out in painful pleasure as Sam snarled. 

“Who is your King?” Sam snapped. 

“You are, my Liege.” 

Juliette barked her agreement, never far from Sam’s side. 

“Good Knight,” Sam purred. “Cum.” 

The King and his Knight ruled, and all was good in Hell. Torture numbers stayed up, as did soul collections, and treason was a rarer offense than it had ever been in Crowley’s age. 

They kept the balance, and they ruled as they grew up. As one entity. SamandDean, no spaces. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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